


Saying Goodbye to The Chance

by DruidX



Series: The Genderless!HoK (TES IV: Oblivion) [7]
Category: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Alcohol, Corpse Desecration, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:11:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26190163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DruidX/pseuds/DruidX
Summary: Genderless!HoK returns to Applewatch to grieve the passing of Lucien Lachance, and a few other people they've lost in their journey around Cryrodiil.
Series: The Genderless!HoK (TES IV: Oblivion) [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1901968
Kudos: 9





	Saying Goodbye to The Chance

**Author's Note:**

> I finally finished Oblivion (to all intents and purposes). I forgot how many feels the game gives. It also deeply annoys me that there’s very little “tidy up” in the game, eg the Bruma Mages Guild is still burning, despite it catching alight 8 months of game-time ago. So this is 90% a requiem for finishing the game, and 5% for that annoyance.

It was nearly night by the time I arrived at Applewatch. The sun was setting, coating the Jerral mountains in a wash of yellow and orange. Shadowmere pranced uneasily beneath me, as if to ask me what we were doing here. It was a good question, one I wasn't sure how to answer.

I'd ridden hard from Bravil to Cheydinhal after receiving the Night Mother's latest instruction, and was in the Sanctuary passing her message along when I'd overheard a snide comment from some fresh recruit. Only the Nine knew how he'd heard about what happened, but he was spouting off the lie that Lachance had been the traitor, not Bellamont. I got... upset. Reprimanded the poor murderer quite... fiercely. Arquen intervened, advised me to cool off, before I broke one of the five tenets. So I ran. I meant to go to Frostcrag Spire, sink my mind into the balm of potion-making. But at some point, I'd veered off that path and brought us here, to Applewatch.

I slid from Shadowmere's back, patting her neck in reassurance. My bow slipped into my hands as I approached the door, the familiar weight like a safety net. The handle turned easily in my hand and I slipped in. The smell caught me first, the stench of a battlefield. I left the door to swing open, letting the sweet cold air of the mountains replace the foetid stench within.  
He still hung there. I could hardly believe it. No one had come to cut him down and bury him. Arquen clearly didn't care. The other Sanctuaries didn't care. For all their talk of fellowship, the Brotherhood didn't care that they'd killed one of their own, then had left him to rot, unloved and forgotten.  
I blinked through tears, surprised to find I'd sunk to my knees, still in the doorway.  
"Oh, Lucien," I murmured, salt on my lips. "How basely you've been served..."  
After a moment to compose myself, I pulled the sheets from the rustic bed, laying them out flat beneath Lachance's mutilated corpse. Then, with a combination of luck and telekinetic magic, I cut him down. With care, I arranged what was left of his body, scattering Lavender sprigs, Fennel seeds, Nightshade and Sacred Lotus flowers over his body as I wrapped it in the sheets. Thus shrouded, I prayed. I prayed to Sithis, to collect his spirit and lead it to wherever it was supposed to go. I prayed to the Nine, that they would let him into Aetherius, if that was where he was supposed to go. I prayed to Azura, because something in my heart told me she'd champion a lost cause. I'm not religious by any means, but I'd trucked with Deadra and the Nine enough to believe that they were listening.

After a long while, I stood, stiff from the cold. I had a headache and was both tired, thirsty and hungry. But my night could not end yet. Lucien deserved a wake, even if it was a wake of one. Which meant I had food to prepare at least. Thus I set a fire going in the cold grate, chopped an old onion, withered root vegetables and a hunk of salted ham. From the well outside, I drew cold water and set about making a poor soup. While it stewed, I went to gather winter greens from the garden. I chopped a few heads, shredding a quarter into the soup. The rest I took outside to give to Shadowmere. I found her pawing at the graves of the Draconis family.  
"Come away, beautiful," I told her. "Come away."  
Even as I said it, I couldn't seem to help myself. I read the epitaphs written there, wondering who had wanted an entire family wiped out like that. Couldn't help but recall the cold, vicious joy I'd felt at depriving them of their lives, the ruthless satisfaction at killing them so blatantly, so efficiently, right under the nose of the Imperial Guard. I spat, away from the graves.  
"Imperial guard, pride of the Empire. My ass," I told Shadowmere. "I used to respect them once. Thought when I finished my Alchemy studies I'd join their ranks. That was the plan anyway. Get out of jail, join the Mages Guild, become a Master Alchemist, serve in the Legion to give them every edge." I gave a bitter laugh. "But my time in the guilds has just shown me they're blind, arrogant and corrupted. No wonder people use the Fighters, the Thieves and the Dark Brotherhood to solve their problems." I shook my head. "Let's come away, eh. Come away."  
I drew us both away, and led the black horse into the lee of the house, leaving her to her winter greens. I wondered, as I went back inside, if she knew her master was dead, if she could smell him beneath the scent of decay.

Back inside, and too hungry to bother waiting longer, I served two portions of soup and poured two beakers of cheap wine, found in the Draconis' root cellar.  
"To you," I said, raising my cup to Lucien's shrouded form. "To the chance, the offer that you extended to all." I took a sip of my drink. "Afterall, that is what your name means, right? 'The Chance', in Bretonic?"  
I ate some of the soup, the veg still crunchy in parts, the meat rubbery, but I didn't care. It was enough to fill a hole.  
"You lived up to it well, I think," I continued. "Everyone in the Sanctuary told me they owed you for finding them a place to belong. That they had been in a dark place, and you offered them a way to give that darkness purpose. It was the same for me, too. After Martin- But then you knew that, or you wouldn't have offered me the Blade." I shook my head, the food turning tasteless in my mouth. But I kept eating and didn't stop until the bowl was empty.  
"I wish," I said, picking up my wine cup and standing, "I wish I'd been able to do this for him. For Martin." I pulled myself up onto a chest of drawers, back resting against the roughhewn wood of the cabin, so I could see Lachance better. "Maybe they had a celebration for him, as they did in Bruma. I don't know. I left the Imperial City with such haste. I wish I had done this for him, but the fact is, I don't even know if he's truly dead, or if he's just sleeping in the form of Akatosh inside that statue." I took another sip of wine. "Maybe I should do it anyway. The Blades, they had their own way of mourning Jauffre and Baurus, one that I wasn't privy to."  
A mournful wind whipped into the house, making the fire and candles flicker, sending a small drift of snow over the threshold. With a sigh, I slipped from my perch to close the door. For a moment I just stared into the night, wondering at the ghostly green haze that spread out over Applewatch's grounds. I slipped out, to check on Shadowmere, and drape her over with the blanket from the bed. Satisfied she was fine, I went back inside, drawing the door closed behind me. I resumed my perch, and took up my cup again, nursing it against the chill of the night.  
"I bet they didn't," I said into the still air. "I bet they didn't do anything at all." I tossed the cup back, letting the fake warmth of the wine mingle with the sudden rage that stirred in my belly like the Oblivion fires. "Do you know, when it was over with, when Chancellor Octao found me huddled and weeping like a babe in the ruined Temple, all he could say was, 'Oh dear,'" I mimicked, a high mocking thing, "'the Emperor is gone. Oh well. I'll have some pretty armour made for you,'" I scowled at the rope still hanging from the ceiling, hitting the cup against the edge of the drawers as I spoke. "I hate him. Jauffre and Baurus might still be alive if Ocato had sent troops to Bruma like I asked. I. Hate. Him. He didn't even look sad when I said Martin was gone. Just shocked. I hate him so much. He should have protected Martin. I should've-. He's a craven troll. A toadying fool. This is his fault, and I hate him. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him!"  
The cup broke in my hand, splitting right down the middle. It slipped from my grasp, slicing my palm, and clattering on the floor. I lifted it up, staring blindly at the blood dripping onto the floor. "I'd pray to the Night Mother myself, if I thought it would do any good. But I can still hear Martin's voice- I hear all their voices, you know. Even your's, Monsieur. The voice of everyone I've killed, everyone who's death I've caused, everyone I couldn't save. Archmage Traven, Viranus Donton, Baurus... Everyone. I'd ask if that made me crazy, but," I laughed, a little too high, a little too bitter, and waved a hand at Lucien's remains, "I'm talking to a corpse. And I did get made into Sheogorath, the Madgod's avatar. I think I'm allowed a little crazy." I laughed again. "You're probably looking down at me from Aetherius - and what a terrifyingly long way that is; I should know, I've been - and shaking your head." I looked at my hand. "And probably telling me to do something about this. You didn't seem the sort who would want me making more of a mess than I had to."

I fumbled my way off the chest. There was a bolt of cloth on one of the shelves, so I cut a strip, binding my hand before going back for the wine. I paused at the table, carefully reaching around Lucien's place-setting. I didn't want to disturb his last meal, and I certainly wasn't going to drink from the cup of a deadman. I grabbed the bottle and resumed my seat on the drawers. I took a pull from the bottle, looking down at my bound hand, the blood still seeping through.  
"In fact, you said that my style of killing was the signature on my contract with Sithis. My style was quick, efficient. Ruthless and silent. Making as little fuss as possible. Professional." I nodded to myself. "So yes, you would say," I deepened my voice, made it huskier, "for you of all people, to allow your blood to flow unchecked, to disturb the sublime scene of your murder, is to allow a taint to spread over Sithis' honour, and make a mockery of the transcendent darkness he has gifted you." I took a swing from the bottle, rolling it around my mouth before swallowing. "And Martin. He would tell me that vengeance is useless. He'd tell me that we all show our grief in different ways, but it shouldn't be to commit an act of vengeance." I took another drink, imagining Martin's sweet, calm voice, explaining all the ways that vengeance wasn't a good look for me. "I don't think he'd be happy that my grief took me to the Dark Brotherhood, but I think he'd understand. I wonder if he'd be disappointed that all the potions I make these days are poisons. It wasn't intentional. But it's so much easier to make something bitter, than something sweet."  
I took another gulp of wine. "I need to thank you for that as well, Monsieur Chance. You never asked why I changed my mind. What brought me to your sanguine door. You took my silences as it was meant - to not intrude. None of the other Brothers in the Sanctuary asked either, and Ocheeva didn't question that I asked her for contract after contract, with little rest between them. Everyone seemed to understand I needed to vent my pain on another's body. And they let me. I truly am grateful for that."

I let my head lol back against the cabin wall, imagining the room filling up with everyone I'd lost.  
Martin, in his simple robes, sat reading in my recently vacated chair. Arch-Mage Traven over by the bedroom, surrounded by the Bruma mages guild, lecturing Umbacano on the importance of vetting the artefacts people give you. Telaendril, Ocheeva and Antoinetta, graceful in their dark armour, playing cards with the other members of the Brotherhood in the root cellar - the darkest corner of the house. Next to the fire, Jauffre and Baurus, clad in their Blades armour, stood with Donton, Agronak gro-Malog, and Adamus Phillida. All laughing, sharing tales of daring, the firelight glimmering off their armour. Jeelius sat with Areldur and Duke Thadon at the table, discussing theology, art and culture, alongside the simpler conversation of Nivan Dalvilu, Aleron Loche and Hrol Ulfgar. In the entry-way behind me, raucous chatter drifted from the soldiers who died protecting Bruma. And the man of the hour, Lucien Lachance, sat quietly on a stool at the feet of his shrouded body.  
In my mind's eye, the house was warm and bright, filled with the cheer of a New Life Festival, where food and drink were plentiful. I pictured myself standing, greeting and speaking to each person I beheld. Apologising, thanking, wishing them well, laughing and commiserating over shared adventures. Saying fare-thee-well to each in turn. The house emptying after each good-bye. Until it was just Lucien and me, standing side by side, looking at his corpse. Silently he turned to me, taking hold of my injured hand. My blood began to flow again. Reverently, he drew it out, until each finger was covered, glistening, sanguine. He stepped back with a nod, and I knelt, pressing a bloody handprint onto his shoulder.  
"Thank you, Listener," I heard him say. "Farewell."

~*~*~

I woke the next morning, cold and stiff, still perched on the chest of drawers. The grate was cold, the house silent. Even the wind had stilled. I went about the morning - lit the fire, reheated what was left of the stew, gave Shadowmere more greens. As I ate, I noticed that a bloody hand-print had appeared on Lucien's shroud. Yet my palm was clean, the wound healing over. I shook my head. Perhaps the Night Mother herself came to pay her respects.

Through telekinesis and stubbornness, I moved LaChance's corpse outside and placed him next to the Draconis family. Under the weak winter sun, I built a carn around him. I brought out the wine and bowl of his last supper, leaving the food for the crows. The wine I poured over the carn, intoning as I did, "Here lies Lucien Lachance. Honoured Speaker, devoted of Sithis. May the blood of his victims flow as free as this wine, a river to carry him into the Void."


End file.
